


Thrown In the Deep End

by FloriaTosca



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (kind of), Aftercare, Anal Fingering, B-Movies, Bathing/Washing, Board Games, Bottom Bucky, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Community: capkink, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexual Steve Rogers, Domestic, Dorks in Love, Dubious Consent, Dubious Science, Friendship/Love, Fuck Or Die, Gentle Sex, Hot Chocolate, Lots of dialogue, M/M, Massage, Past Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Scene Gone Wrong, Service Top, Sexual Trauma, Snarky Bucky, Triggers, adorkable earnest steve, body issues due to past trauma, bucky loves hot showers, but he's a tough little bastard, cameos from sam and natasha, communication is important, dorky sex banter, inappropriate humor as a coping mechanism, not avengers: age of ultron compliant, not quite that dire but the same idea, of the "have sex or something horrible will happen" variety, overuse of the word "pal", references to pre-Cold War politics, steve and bucky have a lot of feelings, steve is a cuddle bug, steve rogers is a giant nerd, taking it slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloriaTosca/pseuds/FloriaTosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky got injected with some hostile nanobots on a mission, and he and Steve have to have sex to keep the nanos inactive until the cure is completed.  What makes this worse is that Bucky has really not been wanting to have sex with anybody after everything HYDRA did to him.  But Bucky and Steve are in this together, and they are by God going to get through it.  </p>
<p>Based on a capkink prompt asking for Steve/Bucky fuck or die after past HYDRA sexual trauma, with lots of emphasis on trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt at the capkink meme: http://capkink.dreamwidth.org/1349.html?thread=450373#cmt450373
> 
> "Bucky was repeatedly violated in every horrible way during his time as the Winter Soldier. It's not something he kept a secret, but he and Steve still haven't been able to have sex again yet; they've gotten only as far as cuddling and some light makeouts, everything kept above the waist. It's been slow but steady progress; they're both being very careful and checking in often. Steve has learned to get better at not saying "are you sure?" when Bucky says he's okay with something, and just take him at his word.
> 
> Enter some sort of drug or sex pollen or whatever - it doesn't matter so long as it's just the two of them, no one with guns to their heads or anything. But Bucky will die unless they have penetrative sex, Bucky on bottom. Steve's been all about respecting boundaries, and he's torn up horribly, because either letting Bucky die or losing his trust are the worst possible choices. But it's Bucky who insists on going through with it, if Steve will help him, and Steve - well, he will always do his best to respect Bucky's choices.
> 
> Maybe the setting is in a lab or something, or maybe it's in the safety of their own bedroom, but either way Steve is constantly drawing Bucky's attention to him or his own body, assuring them there's no scientists standing around waiting their turn or just WATCHING and not helping him, it's just him and Steve there, and everything goes at his pace. The last thing either of them want is for Bucky to dissociate/get triggered. All my love for Bucky having to stop Steve a few times and get his bearings, chase away a bad memory or feeling before they go on. Mostly I'm looking for trust. Steve trusts Bucky to tell him when he is and isn't OK, and Bucky trusts Steve not to do anything he doesn't want and not to hurt him."
> 
> I'll be posting at the meme first, and then posting cleaned-up chapters here.

“Hey pal,” Bucky said softly. Steve looked up from his sketchpad – where he'd been making various futile half-hearted efforts to draw as he waited for Bucky to get out of medical – and looked over his friend. Bucky was walking out of medical on his own two feet, he wasn't hooked up to any obvious medical equipment, he hadn't been rushed to a hospital bed, and he was smiling. But he was skim-milk pale and smiling in that brittle, cracked way he had when the only things keeping him from a truly spectacular emotional breakdown were black humor and sheer willpower. He was also holding a small paper bag in his hand.

“Bucky!” Steve sprang out of his chair and hugged his friend. Bucky leaned into the touch, sighed, and smiled, wearily but with genuine warmth this time. “How bad is it?” Steve asked. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Pretty bad, and yeah, there is, but I'm not sure you'd want to. It's a lot to ask of anyone.”

“Bucky, if you need it to get better, you know I'm up for it,” Steve said earnestly. “You know I'm-”

“With you 'till the end of the line, I know,” Bucky said. “And I appreciate it. Just hear me out, okay?” Steve nodded. “The doctors found out what was in that stuff I got shot up with. It's similar to something they've encountered before. Little microscopic organic robots that attack the nervous system. And no, the serum can't fight it off on its own. 'Least not the version I got.” Steve looked stricken and hugged Bucky more tightly. “Easy there, Stevie, I've gotta breathe. They say they know how to cure it, but even with the best tech out there, synthesizing the antidote's going to take long enough for the little guys to do serious damage.”

Steve felt about to cry. No one who didn't know him personally would ever have believed that a six-foot-and-change muscular soldier could look so pathetic. “But – you said there was something I could do. What about that?” Steve asked desperately.

“There is,” Bucky said, petting Steve's hair with his free hand. “Won't cure it, but Dr. Cho said it should slow the little bastards down and keep them from replicating until they get a cure put together.”

 _Oh thank god_. Although, now that the initial suspense was over, Steve realized that Bucky had been pretty evasive about what exactly Steve was supposed to do for him. “Okay, Buck, what do you need me to do?” Steve asked.

“Funny thing,” Bucky said, his voice tense and brittle and artificially bright. “Drugs can't stop the little bastards, neither can the serum, but they need a stable situation to really perform. Mess with the human nervous system a little and they forget how to do their fucking jobs, at least for a while.” Bucky shook his head. “Lucky for me. But it turns out that in my case, the best and safest way to make 'em forget their orders is for me to get off as often as I can between now and when the docs have the antidote made up. With 'internal stimulation.'” Bucky grimaced a little. “Apparently that part's very important. Involves more nerves or something.” Bucky took a few steadying breaths, and then turned back to Steve and said solemnly, “Steven Grant Rogers, would you do me the honor of screwing me so tiny robot bugs don't eat my brain?”

“Of course, Buck,” Steve said. “But... wouldn't it be easier on you if you did it yourself?”

“No, I don't think it would,” Bucky said. “I thought about it, but I think this is one of those situations where you're better off with someone else, if it's someone you trust. Remember how after we fought those plesiosaurs near Bellingham you hated having water on your face, so I washed your hair for you? It's kind of like that.” Steve resisted the impulse to point out that his bout of temporary hydrophobia had nothing to do with bad guys doing anything with his hair. “Besides, I'm not sure me doing myself'd even work. On a bad day I have to work at it just to keep my head on straight washing my goods in the shower – how the hell am I going to keep it together for an entire... medicinal jerkoff marathon? Jesus, how is this my life?” Bucky shook his head. “Sorry to dump all this on you. I can understand if you're not thrilled at the prospect of getting hot and heavy with all my mental problems.”

“You know I'm not in a position to judge you about that, right?” Steve said. “Ask Sam.”

“Can't argue with you there, pal,” Bucky said drily.

“Bucky,” Steve said earnestly. “You should never feel like you're a burden for asking for what you need. Being with you – in any capacity – isn't some terrible hardship. But I need you to promise me something. If anything I do hurts you or messes with your head – even if it's not that big a deal and you know you can take it – please, let me know.”

“All right, all right,” Bucky said. “How can I say no when you're looking all noble at me?” Bucky continued, more seriously, “I know you won't hurt me. I trust you. Just remember that my head's a goddamn minefield and don't beat yourself up over anything that's really HYDRA's fault, okay?”

Steve nodded, then took a deep breath, set his jaw, and squared his shoulders. “Bucky,” Steve said resolutely, “If we're going to do this for real, we'll need slick. All I have is hand lotion and I don't think that's really supposed to go inside you.”

“Way ahead of you, pal,” Bucky said. He held out the little bag he'd been clutching since the doctor let him go. “One of the techs gave me this before I left. Lube, prophylactics, and this thing.” Bucky reached into the bag and pulled out a small, mysterious object. It was a gnarly little thing a few inches long and a little thicker than Steve's thumb, and it looked the egg case of some mysterious sea creature, made out of some kind of firm purple rubber. Bucky flicked a tiny button on one end and it began humming ominously.

“What the hell is that thing?” Steve asked.

“Some kind of modern marital aid,” Bucky said. Steve and Bucky looked dubiously at the little buzzing object. That thing looked way too knobbly for anyone to go around sticking it in sensitive confined spaces. “I didn't have the heart to tell them that I've sworn off having experimental tech inside me if I can help it.” Bucky failed to elaborate and Steve decided that, for now, this was one of those things he did not want to think about too hard. At least not until he and Bucky made some progress on their more immediate problem.

“Okay, Buck, looks like we got everything. Ready to go?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded, and Steve scooped him up into a bridal carry.

“My hero,” Bucky sighed. He fluttered his eyelashes and swooned a little against Steve's shoulder for effect.

“Damn right I am,” Steve said, as he carried Bucky and their little bag of supplies off toward the elevators.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky wouldn't have admitted it, but he was grateful that Steve had decided to pick him up. He was not feeling a bit steady and he didn't think this was all because he hadn't had a chance to eat in six hours. When he'd been in medical, the question of “how am I not going to die horribly?” had preoccupied his attention, and then he'd had Steve to reassure. But now, without the protective emotional distance provided by Something To Do, the full implications of what he'd just got himself into sank in. Steve was going to fuck him. More than once. And Bucky was going to have to be there feeling every bit of it.

Despite what Stark Junior liked to insinuate, Bucky and Steve's love life since Bucky got his marbles back had been pretty chaste: cuddling, necking, a little light above-the-waist groping if Bucky was having a good day and feeling particularly affectionate. Which had been fine, once Sam had convinced Steve and Bucky to actually talk about it. Steve claimed that he was happy with whatever Bucky was comfortable with, and despite Steve's predisposition to stupidly noble gestures of various sorts, Bucky believed him. Steve had always been the kind of person who enjoyed sex, with the right partner, but didn't _need_ it. And Bucky was too busy dealing with everything else in his damn head to have much time for sexual frustration. But this... this was going to be a goddamn Astaire and Rogers dance number on a minefield, and not just for the reasons Steve would expect. Steve knew about HYDRA's penchant for brutally invasive, well, _everything_ and how that had done a number on Bucky's relationship with his body and ability to handle people messing with it – but he didn't quite grasp the intricacies. Steve saw Bucky's issues as essentially similar to Steve's own unease around cold water in any quantity larger than a punchbowl. Steve, bless his big dumb golden heart, had no idea how everything could get knotted up when a real first-class twisted bastard got his hands on you.

“Will you need anything?” Steve asked, when they reached the elevators, jolting Bucky out of his reverie.

“I should probably eat something,” Bucky said. “And a real shower would be nice.”

“Want me to make you something?” Steve asked. Damn, Bucky must have looked bad. Unlike Sam, who actively liked to cook and appreciated an audience, or Natasha, whose bouts of stress-baking invariably resulted in all her friends receiving mysterious deliveries of Russian tea cakes or pryaniki from an out-of-season ninja Santa Claus, Steve didn't make a habit of expressing affection through food.

“Thanks, Stevie, but I'm not too tired to operate a toaster. Besides,” Bucky said, “You should be saving your strength. Remember, you've got a lot of work ahead of you.” Bucky laced the last sentence with as much innuendo as possible and winked. HYDRA had spoiled too many things in Bucky's life, but making Steve blush remained an untainted pleasure.

Steve finally put Bucky down in the kitchenette of their suite. Bucky poured himself a glass of juice and made himself some cheese toast, while Steve sat at their table and did something with his phone. Bucky couldn't see what was working on, but he did have a decent view of Steve's face. From the combination of earnest determination and flusteredness in Steve's expression, Steve was probably looking for some kind of sexual how-to guide. For both their sakes, Bucky hoped he was finding some useful information amidst the pornography and wishful thinking. “Found anything interesting?” Bucky teased.

“You could say that,” Steve said drily. Bucky considered trying to get a look at Steve's phone, but if Steve had discovered anything relevant, Bucky was going to know soon enough. Intimately. And after the day he'd had, Bucky really did want a hot shower.

Because alcohol in anything close to reasonable quantities didn't do anything for him anymore and alcohol in truly unreasonable quantities just made him sick (thanks, HYDRA), Bucky's current indulgence of choice when the world was too much with him was hot water and lots of it. Thank god for modern water heaters. (And for the fact that, during his years active in Eastern Europe, the Winter Soldier had never been ordered to assassinate someone in a banya.) Bucky liked his showers hot enough to be just on the right side of uncomfortable, with a firm but not stinging level of water pressure. Too soft and easy and his thoughts had more opportunity to slide around, which was never a good thing when he was naked and in an enclosed space. As for the other extreme – as HYDRA atrocities went, being hosed down during defrosting wasn't on his Top Ten list of grievances, but it was not something Bucky had any urge to be reminded of if he could possibly help it.

Bucky let the hot water thud against his upper back for a few minutes – when all this was over, he really needed to ask Steve for a shoulder rub – and then got on with cleaning himself up. Bucky's usual strategy when his nerves were this strained was to wash his sensitive bits as efficiently and automatically as possible while thinking about something distracting. But today was going to require a different approach. Bucky lathered up with some of the apple pie shower gel Miss Lewis had given Steve for Christmas and washed all over slowly and deliberately, trying to keep his mind in the moment and make the lingering touch feel sensuous rather than creepy. “Easy there, Barnes,” Bucky muttered to himself, “It's some soap suds and a washrag, for crying out loud. They're not going to hurt you. You're gonna be washing your dick, not disarming a goddamn bomb. You can do this.” Bucky couldn't truthfully say that he particularly enjoyed the process, but he did get through his slow-motion shower with no flashbacks, dissociation, or other freakouts, and the hot water had done its job. When he got out of the shower and dried off he felt a lot more settled in his body.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes gets a backrub, and Steve Rogers does not actually have a magical healing tongue but he damn well tries. And a brief digression discussing Steve's first impressions of S.H.I.E.L.D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where things start getting porny. So, warnings for dubious consent of the "two characters in a loving relationship have agreed-upon sex that one of them is really not emotionally ready for because of circumstances created by an impersonal outside force" variety.  
> Also, while I have tried to make Bucky's characterization sensitive and plausible, I am not any kind of trauma expert. My apologies if I've drastically flubbed anything.

Bucky heard a polite but firm tap on the bathroom door. “Bucky?” Steve called. “You okay in there?”

“I'm fine, Steve. You know, under the circumstances. Be out in a minute. I think that charging robot must have messed my shoulder up a little. It was kinda stiff.”

“Want me to help you with that?” Steve asked.

“Sounds good.” Bucky wrapped himself up in his bathrobe, stepped out of the bathroom, and nearly bumped into Steve, who was standing there looking earnest even by Steve's standards.

“So, Bucky, I forgot to ask, but – do you want clothes?”

“I appreciate the offer, pal,” Bucky said. “But I think we should bring out the USO showgirl outfit when the situation's a little less dire and we can afford to take our time.”

“What? No! I meant – would you feel safer if you were wearing something while we, um-”

“Fondued?” Bucky suggested.

“You're never going to let me forget that, are you?” Steve grumbled.

“Probably not,” Bucky said. “About the clothes thing – I don't like being naked around fully dressed people, but aside from that I don't think it'll make much difference. If I change my mind I'll let you know.”

“Right,” Steve said. “Just let me get some towels and stuff and we can get started. You still want that shoulder rub?”

“When do I not?” Bucky said. Which was true. Bucky's left arm was a marvelous piece of engineering, but it was still a substantial chunk of metal hanging off one side of his body, and his left side wound up soaking a lot of hard hits. The serum and the arm's built-in shock absorption could only compensate so much.

When Bucky got to their bedroom, he folded the comforter back, lay face-down on the bed, and willed himself to relax.  _Dammit, Barnes_ , he thought.  _Steve's done this a million times. You like massages_.

“Everything all right there, Buck?” Steve called from the entrance to the bedroom.

“Just a little tense, that's all,” Bucky said.

“I think I can help with that,” Steve said. Steve was standing in the doorway carrying a stack of towels and washrags and the little bag of supplies from the doctor. He'd apparently decided to split the difference on the clothes question and was wearing boxers and and his oldest and most comfortable Ridiculous Patriotic T-shirt. (Steve's modern friends thought it was funny to give him shirts with pictures of soaring eagles or Mount Rushmore. They were all far too flashy for Steve's taste but Sarah Rogers hadn't raised her boy to waste perfectly good new clothes, so Steve slept or painted in them.) “Move over a little so I can put this down,” said Steve, “and then we can get started.”

Bucky moved aside to let Steve put down a towel, then lay back down and Steve got to work. Even while Bucky knew what was ahead for them, the strong, familiar touch was comforting. Steve spent a few minutes doing wide strokes on Bucky's upper back before getting to work on the knots around his neck and shoulders. “Mmm, yeah, right there,” Bucky said. “That's it. Little harder.” Steve obliged and put a little more muscle into teasing out the tangle between the scar tissue over Bucky's left shoulder and the base of his neck. The whole area was the equivalent of a knitting basket that had been attacked by a litter of very active kittens. Bucky's back had made a massage therapist cry, once.

By the time Steve had worked out the kinks in Bucky's neck and shoulder, Bucky had gone quiet and was doing his best impression of a large muscular metal-armed ragdoll. “Hey, Buck,” Steve said softly, “Still with me?”

“Mhmm.”

“How's your shoulder now?”

Bucky rolled his shoulders and stretched, testing his arms' range of motion. “Better,” said Bucky. “Thanks, pal.”

“Any time, I mean it,” Steve said. He paused, a little awkwardly, then continued, “So, Bucky, how do you want to do this?”

“Haven't really thought that far, I'm afraid,” Bucky said.

“Okay,” Steve said. “Let's start with the basics. Wham-bam-thank-you-Captain or slow and gentle?”

“I wanna say let's get through this as quickly as possible,” Bucky said. “But that's probably a terrible idea. We'd better take it slow. I'm feeling kinda frayed.”

“We can certainly do that. Anything else?”

“Fresh out of ideas, I'm afraid,” Bucky said wryly. “Sorry. I hate to dump this on you, but would you mind taking the lead on this one? Whole damn business has me so stupidly edgy it makes me tired just thinking about it, and, well, you're the strategy guy.”

“Of course, Bucky, if that's what you want. Just be sure you let me know if you need anything. Are you ready to get started?”

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Bucky said. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at Steve – wow, his neck really did feel a lot more limber – and continued, more seriously, “And yes, I promise, if I need you to stop or slow down or do or not do anything, I'll let you know.”

“Glad we're on the same page,” Steve said. “Now try to relax if you can, Bucky. I've got you.” Steve resumed stroking Bucky's back, a little lower this time.

Steve, being the gentleman that he was, didn't immediately go for Bucky's ass. He worked his way down Bucky's back gradually, with less strength than he'd used on Bucky's shoulders but enough pressure to be grounding. By the time Steve's hands reached Bucky's ass, Bucky was back to something like his previous state of relaxation. “Still with me, Buck?” Bucky nodded. “Great. I want to try something now, that okay?” Bucky nodded. “You're doing great, Bucky.” Bucky fought the impulse to tense up when he felt one of Steve's fingertips brush gently over his hole. It didn't hurt by any stretch of the imagination, and he knew that this part had to happen, but still. Steve must have noticed, because he quickly moved his hand to a safer location and resumed petting Bucky's back. “It's okay, Buck, I've got you, you're safe,” Steve said. “Need a minute?”

“That would probably be a good idea,” Bucky admitted drily. He took a few deep, calming breaths and continued, “And I got a couple requests.”

“Whatever you need, Bucky.”

Bucky wished he could melt through the mattress, but he had promised Steve he'd be honest about this sort of thing, and really, it wasn't going to make the situation any more mortifying. “Okay, um, I know you're going to need to see what you're doing and all, but please, don't spread me out and just... look. Makes me feel like I'm laid out on a lab table.”  _And that is all I want to say about that_. “And could I have your shirt?” Bucky asked. Steve peeled off his t-shirt and handed it to Bucky. Bucky held the soft, Steve-scented cotton to his face for a moment before he put the shirt on and settled back down on the bed.

“Better?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded. “Ready to go on?”

“Ready enough,” Bucky said.

Steve kissed a trail up the back of Bucky's thigh, slid a hand under his shirt, and gave Bucky's ass a gentle squeeze. This time, Bucky didn't flinch or tense up. Bucky then felt Steve pushing up the hem of his shirt, strong hands on his ass, a puff of hot breath, and then – _what the hell_? Whatever Bucky had been dreading, it was not this soft, wet, just-enough-pressure-not-to-tickle slide across his hole. “Steve? What the hell are you doing?”

“Using my tongue. Found out about it on the internet. Do you need me to stop?”

“No, it feels okay.” Bucky suspected that if he and Steve had discovered this before Zola and Pierce and company had gotten their hands on him, it'd feel a great deal better than that. “Feels kind of strange, but not in a bad way.”

Steve took a couple of swigs from a water bottle on the bedside table, then kissed Bucky on the back of the neck and resumed his attentions to Bucky's ass. After a few minutes, Bucky noticed that the sensation progressed from “weird and wet, but reasonably painless” to “weird and wet and actually sort of good.” The frightening part was the sense of vulnerability that came with it. It left him feeling so sensitized and open and soft and like anything that hurt him in this state would wound him to the quick. With anyone but Steve it would have been unbearable.

As Steve continued eating Bucky out with the dedication he normally used to defend democracy and defeat Evil Science Nazis, Bucky noticed that his ass was not the only part of his body beginning to enjoy the attention. And so did Steve. “Enjoying yourself, Bucky?” Steve asked innocently.

“I am, actually. Score one for Captain America's phenomenal powers of observation,” Bucky said. “But seriously, this is a good thing in more ways than one. I wasn't completely sure everything still worked properly.”

“What?” 

 _Dammit, Barnes, you walked into that one_. “No specific reason. Just – between the mess my head is and everything HYDRA did to me, I was worried I might have permanently broken my dick. It's not like HYDRA would have cared if I had. A weapon doesn't need a love life.”

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve collapsed onto the bed next to Bucky and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Steve, you goof,” Bucky said affectionately. “It's over. I'm here with you, they're all blown to kingdom come, and as long as Stark doesn't wind up dooming the world trying to build a more efficient toaster or something, we're going to be just fine.”

“Sorry, Bucky,” Steve said. “It's just a lot, sometimes.”

“Don't I know it, pal,” said Bucky. He snuggled closer and let his hands wander a bit. Bucky was damaged, not dead, and Steve did have a very nice chest.

“Ready to start again?” Steve asked.

“Hey, you were the one who had to take a break for all your feelings,” Bucky pointed out. “Yeah, I'm ready. But could we do it with me on my back? I think it'll be easier if I can see you.”

Steve paused a moment to consider the logistics. “I don't see why not. Scoot up a little and grab a couple of the pillows. I think we can work something out.” Bucky obliged, handed Steve the pillows, and lay back down on the bed. Steve crawled to the foot of the bed and surveyed the terrain like this was some kind of strategizing session. “Spread your legs a little wider, knees up – little steeper than that – feet flat on the bed.”

“Yes, Captain,” Bucky said.

“Now tuck this under your ass-” he handed Bucky the firmer of the two pillows “-and we should be set. Will this work for you? It's not too exposed, is it?”

“Borderline,” Bucky admitted. “But I guess that can't be helped. Other people being able to mess with your goods is kind of the point of sex. But I'll be able to see you and what you're doing, which should help.”

“Thanks, Buck. Are you ready to get started?”

“If you can restrain yourself from being a schmaltzy sap long enough, I would be glad to,” said Bucky.

Now that Bucky could keep an eye on Steve and his body knew what to expect, Bucky found it easier to relax and appreciate Steve's ministrations. Just as Bucky was really getting into it, Steve stopped, lifted his head to look Bucky in the face, and said “Looks like you're pretty well warmed up, Buck. Now, do you want to keep on doing this a little longer, do you want my tongue in you, or should I go straight to fingers?”

Right. "Internal stimulation." Bucky was _really_ not looking forward to his body being opened up and invaded. But then, this was Steve. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Steve had just had his mouth all over one of the most vulnerable parts of Bucky's body and it had actually felt pretty good once he got used to it. “Tongue sounds good,” Bucky said. “But kinda unhygienic.”

“They do still have Listerine in the 21st century,” Steve pointed out.

“Then go right ahead,” Bucky said. “Tongue away.”

“Ready?” Bucky nodded, and Steve moved in. Steve kissed and nibbled his way up Bucky's inner thigh with just enough firmness not to tickle too much. When he reached Bucky's ass, he licked a few long wet circular swipes around Bucky's hole, and then poked the tip of his tongue inside. Nothing terrible happened.

Steve just stayed like that for a few moments, to Bucky's confusion, until Bucky realized that Steve was waiting to hear Bucky's go-ahead but couldn't just ask because his mouth was, well, occupied. “I'm okay, Steve. Go on,” said Bucky. He reached down and patted Steve on the top of his right shoulder for emphasis, then rested his hand in Steve's fluffy blond hair.

After the initial breach, Bucky hoped Steve would just put his tongue in Bucky's ass and be done with it, but that was not Steve's game plan. Steve only stayed inside for a few strokes, then withdrew for a few licks around Bucky's rim. Which gave Bucky's ass the chance to go _hell no_ to this whole penetration business and clench up tight, which meant Steve had to lick him open again and Bucky had to try to relax as much as possible in the face of his body's intruder alert. It all struck Bucky as awfully inefficient. But, Bucky realized, that was probably the point. The real goal of this wasn't to get Steve's tongue in Bucky's ass; the goal was to get Bucky's body to accept that opening up and having something inside him wouldn't hurt.

It worked, after a fashion, although it took a while. Even after Bucky's body got used to the feeling and even started to enjoy it, there was something slightly terrifying about feeling so open. This did not stop Bucky's budding arousal, which had died down after the most recent interruption, from coming back with a vengeance. It took some time, but eventually Steve's tongue had Bucky more turned on than he had been since the MKULTRA Sex Pollen Incident of '61 and _oh goddamn it why did he have to remember that right then_?

“Stevie?” Bucky said, “Could you talk to me for a minute? It doesn't have to be sexy or anything. My mind's going weird places.”

“Sure, Buck.” Steve paused a moment, then said, “Did I ever tell you about when I tried to find out if S.H.I.E.L.D. were Communists or not?”

“No,” Bucky said. “But it sounds amazing.”

“Not really,” Steve said. “When I first woke up, remember, they tried to make think it was still the forties. And even after the truth came out, they kept feeding me information in little dribs and drabs for the first few days. It was kind of insulting, actually. I don't know if they thought I'd collapse under the strain if they let me have everything at once or if spies are just naturally stingy about giving away information. So I got curious about who the hell I was dealing with and what they stood for, but nobody was giving me any substantial answers. And I hadn't been told about the Cold War or the Civil Rights Movement yet. So there I was, dealing with a big secretive organization that apparently worked all across the world, really believed in racial equality, and wouldn't tell me much about what they were actually doing. Had I been thawed out and taken in by the Comintern's version of the SSR? Fury and Hill thought it was hilarious when they found out.”

“Thank you, Stevie. That was beautiful.”

“Glad to oblige,” Steve deadpanned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Steve's a politically left-leaning person who missed the entire Cold War, Communism has different mental associations for him than it does for most Americans who were around for the second half of the twentieth century. He's familiar with the CPUSA of the interbellum years (which did do a lot of civil rights work) as well as the Soviet Union and other big players.
> 
> This is my first story for this pairing, and I am so glad people are reading and enjoying it. Thank you to everyone who's read, commented, or left kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sex continues in this chapter, so warnings for gentle and negotiated dub-con (of the "character having agreed-on sex that they're not emotionally ready for with their romantic partner because of a Fuck or Die situation imposed by an impersonal outside force" variety.)

    Steve sat up and shuffled a little closer so he was kneeling between Bucky's spread legs. “You're doing great, Bucky. I am so proud of you,” he said. Steve reached out to smooth some of the strands of half-dried hair out of Bucky's face, and caressed Bucky's cheek. “I mean it, Buck. You are being so damn brave.”

    “You're the one doing all the work,” Bucky pointed out.

    Steve smiled self-deprecatingly and looked down at the bed. “You know me, I need to keep busy or I'll get mixed up in something stupidly dangerous.”

    “Can't argue with you there, pal,” Bucky said. “At least when you're going down on me you can't jump out of any planes.” At the sight of Steve's mischievous and speculative expression, Bucky added, “And you are not allowed to take that as some kind of challenge!”

    “Wouldn't dream of it, Buck,” Steve said, a little too innocently. “Say, Bucky,” Steve said. “The doctor just said you need to get off with 'internal stimulation', right? Does it matter what it's from?”

    “Pretty sure it doesn't,” Bucky said. “They never said it had to be anything specific, and they gave me rubbers and that weird buzzy purple thing.”

    “Great! So, since you don't like machines inside you and I'm... kinda big, I thought I could get you off with my fingers. I always liked that when you did it to me.”

    “You were a greedy little punk who always tried to rush things,” Bucky grumbled.

    Steve beamed the way he always did when Bucky remembered something about their lives before the war. “Okay, so I _really_ liked it. And I wouldn't have kept bugging you for more if you hadn't been treating me like I was made of glass.”

    “Buddy, you are in no position to pick on a guy for takin' his time,” Bucky said. “How long did you just spend eating me out?”

    “Fair enough,” Steve said. “So how does that sound?”

    “Fingers sound like the best way to go,” Bucky said. “Just don't take it personally if I don't go nuts for it like you used to. It's not because you're doing a bad job, I promise.”

    “All right. Let me get the slick and we can get started. Do you need anything?”

    “Pass me the water, would you? And, uh,” _Dammit Barnes, Steve just had his tongue in your ass, why are you embarrassed about this?_ “Could we do a different position? You could hold me, or I could sit in your lap, or something like that. I want to feel closer to you.”

    “We can certainly do that,” Steve said as he stretched to grab the water bottle and the lube. He paused a moment to consider the logistics. “How about if I sit up and you sort of straddle my lap facing me? Cozy enough for you?”

    “Sounds good,” Bucky said. Steve handed Bucky the water and then crawled to to the head of the bed, taking the lube with him, and sat down with his back against the headboard. Bucky moved up to join him, straddled his lap, leaned in close, and wrapped his arms around Steve's neck.

    “Better?” Steve asked.

    “Much.”

    Steve leaned a little closer and began kissing down the left side of Bucky's face and neck, from just below the ear to the seam of his shoulder. Bucky sighed very quietly and leaned into the touch. “Mmm,” Steve said. “You smell good.”

    “I was using your soap, you narcissist,” Bucky grumbled.

    “Well, then, it was a good choice. Apple pie suits you,” Steve said cheerfully.

    “It had better,” Bucky said. “Look who I'm canoodling with.”

    Steve sighed gustily and rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. Then his expression turned a little more serious and he asked, “Are you ready to go on, Buck? We're on the home stretch.”

    “You and your sweet talk,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “But yeah, I'm ready.”

    “Hey, I learned from the best,” said Steve. “Okay, scoot back just a little and raise yourself a little further up so I can get the angle right, and we can get started.”

    “Yes, Captain,” Bucky said. 

    Steve began by slicking up the tips of a couple of his fingers and running them gently over Bucky's hole and the sensitive skin behind his balls. Bucky was still loosened up from Steve working him over with his tongue, so it didn't take long. “Okay, Buck, feels like you're ready,” Steve said. “Can I put one in now?” Bucky nodded, but held on to Steve tighter with his right arm, while he let go entirely with his left arm and used it to grab the headboard. Bucky did not want to risk breaking Steve's neck or something if this got overwhelming.

    Steve slicked up one finger and eased it in, while Bucky did his best to keep his breathing even and his lower body relaxed and pliant. “You're doing great, Bucky,” Steve said. “You are being so brave.” Steve had finally worked his finger in a little past the middle knuckle. It wasn't exactly pleasurable, but it didn't hurt or remind him of invasive medical procedures. “Okay, Bucky, hard part's over for now. Just let me get my bearings and then you can relax and let it feel good.” Steve was petting Bucky's hair and stroking Bucky's back with his free hand while the finger in Bucky's ass gently felt out its surroundings.

    Steve's finger found _something_. Bucky gasped and clutched Steve tighter. “Like that, Buck?” Steve asked. Bucky shrugged, then nodded hesitantly. Steve's finger stroked the spot again. “Okay, Buck, I think we've found what we were looking for,” Steve said. “Ready for another finger?”

    “Yeah...” Bucky said shakily.

    Two fingers felt surprisingly intense. Steve had warmed him up so thoroughly that it didn't really hurt, but the man did not have small hands. By the time Steve had both fingers inside, Bucky had his face buried in Steve's shoulder and his arms wrapped around Steve's chest and was hanging on for dear life. Steve brushed Bucky's hair aside with his free hand and kissed the nape of Bucky's neck. “Shh, I've got you,” Steve murmured. “The hard part's all over. All you have to do now is tell me what feels good.” Steve curled his fingers inside Bucky and stroked gently. Bucky squirmed and stifled a tiny moan against Steve's shoulder. Bucky'd never been particularly loud in bed, between thin-walled apartments and wartime lack of privacy, but HYDRA had left him with a lingering fear of giving voice to any strong physical sensation if he could help it.

    “Do you like that?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded against Steve's shoulder. “Now, if you back up just a little I'll be able to get to your goods, but you're going to have to let go of me.”

    Bucky sat just far enough back that Steve could get a hand between them with room to maneuver. Steve grabbed the lube, flipped the cap open one-handed, and then handed the tube to Bucky and held his free hand out palm-up. “Slick me up, Buck,” Steve said. Oh. Right. Even with super-soldier coordination, it's not easy to squeeze something out of a tube into the hand that's holding the tube. Bucky obliged him, and then Steve, very gently, wrapped his slick hand around Bucky's dick and began stroking him off.

    Bucky shivered and bit back a moan. “I've got you, Bucky,” Steve murmured. “You're safe. Be as loud as you want. I'll take good care of you. Make you feel so good you'll see stars.”

    “How about stripes?” Bucky said, gasping a little on the last word but otherwise impressively deadpan.

    “Dammit, Bucky!

    Steve's hand on Bucky's dick did feel good, but Bucky wasn't seeing any stars yet. Steve was handling him very delicately, which at first was reassuring, but didn't feel as necessary now that Bucky was used to Steve touching him there. “Steve,” Bucky said, “Keep touching me. It feels good.”

    “Glad you like it, Buck,” Steve said. As Bucky had asked, Steve kept touching him. But he didn't put any additional oomph behind his touches now that he knew Bucky could handle it. Bucky did not argue, for the moment. Instead, he decided to try something Sam had mentioned once. Bucky tried to climb out of the knotty mess that was his head and concentrate on what was going on around him. The feel of sheets and terry cloth under his knees. The soft warm skin and firm muscle of Steve's shoulders under his hands. The stretch and fullness and weird but not unpleasant pressure of Steve's fingers in his ass. Steve's big callused hand, touching his dick with almost feathery gentleness. Just – Steve, sitting there big and warm and smiling and kinda sweaty, with his ridiculous heroic jawline and his ridiculous post-battle fluffy helmet hair and his stupid gorgeous baby blues. _All this time I was so damn edgy about anyone touching me, and you were holding my heart all along_ , Bucky thought, then immediately winced inside from the sheer level of sap.

    Bucky looked into Steve's dear ridiculous beautiful mug, smiled sweetly, and said, “Steven Grant Rogers, you are my best friend and the love of my life, and if you don't put your hand on my dick right now and get me off properly I'm going to tell Natasha about how you used to think SHIELD was the secret intelligence branch of the Communist International.”

    Steve smiled innocently and had the gall to look shyly at Bucky through his eyelashes, the bastard, and said, “All you had to do was ask, pal.” He then grabbed Bucky's dick and began stroking him off properly and doing something with his fingers that had Bucky seeing comets and small planets at least. Within a very few minutes the pleasure climbed from frustrating to oh-my-god-yes to way too much and Bucky was coming hard.

    Bucky collapsed, quivering, against Steve's chest and felt Steve gently easing his fingers out of Bucky's body and stroking his hair through the aftershocks. “Hey, it's okay, shh,” Steve whispered. “You did great.” Bucky clung to Steve's solid warmth and tried to pull himself together. He felt wrung-out and weirdly hollow and fragile, and dangerously close to the edge of a laughing or crying jag. Bucky clung for a few minutes while Steve petted him until he'd steadied his breathing and felt a little less on the verge of hysterics.

    Bucky loosened his hold on Steve and looked up at him. “Hey,” he said shakily.

    “Hey, you,” Steve said affectionately, smiling down at Bucky like the big sap he was. “Wanna clean up now?”

    “Probably should,” Bucky said. He sat up, pulled off his t-shirt, and tossed it into the laundry basket. Bucky shivered a little, although the room was not really that cold.

    “She probably already knows,” Steve said. Steve must have noticed Bucky shivering, because he handed Bucky his bathrobe along with a washrag off the bedside table.

    “Wait, who- are you talking about Natasha?” Bucky asked. He didn't know why Steve was bringing that up now, but he was grateful for the distraction.

    “Yeah. She has lunch with Maria Hill and Pepper Potts.”

    “What do they do, play bridge and plot world domination?” Bucky asked.

    “Probably not bridge,” Steve said thoughtfully. “Nat never mentioned a fourth person.”

    “Three-handed pinochle?” Bucky suggested. Steve smiled and shrugged, then grabbed a washrag off the table for himself. Bucky cleaned himself up and tried his damnedest to keep his head in the present and not let his mind wander. The circumstances were vastly different this time, but naked plus cold plus fucked-out had been carved into his mind as a Bad Thing. He felt a little better once he got his robe on, but still kind of shaky.

    Steve finished cleaning himself up, grabbed a fresh bottle of water, and sat down next to Bucky on the bed. “What do you need, Buck?” he asked.

    Bucky shook his head and laughed mirthlessly. “Probably a head-shrinker. You think Sam knows any good ones?”

    “He'd probably be the best guy to ask. Let me rephrase that: what do you need from me?”

    “Honestly,” Bucky said, “My head's a mess and I really don't want to be alone right now. Sorry.”

    Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky's shoulders and pulled him closer. “Bucky, you have nothing to apologize for. You are being incredibly brave about all this and you haven't bitten me or kneed me anywhere sensitive or done anything else to be sorry about. It's fine.” He handed Bucky the bottle of water. “But you should drink some of this.”

    Bucky drank about half the water in a couple of long swigs and sighed. “Everything all right, Buck?” Steve asked.

    “No, but none of it's your fault. Just... HYDRA bullshit. My stupid brain's convinced something terrible is going to happen and I just can't settle. I need a distraction.”

    “Does this mean you'll play _Rivals for Catan_ with me?” Steve asked with barely concealed eagerness.

    “Sure,” Bucky said. “But this isn't one of those games that take all evening, is it? Doc said I needed to get off around every two hours to keep the bugs distracted.”

    Steve got up to grab the box. “Says forty-five minutes here. We should have plenty of time.”

    “Sounds good,” Bucky said. “One round for you to bulldoze me and one round for me to try to reclaim my honor.” Bucky was not being self-deprecating – well, okay, maybe a little. He was decent at strategy games, but Steve was a goddamn shark, and had been since he was tiny.

    Even with super-soldier coordination Steve couldn't really shuffle worth a damn, so Bucky shuffled and sorted the cards while Steve cleared some space on the bed and put a shirt on, and then Steve did the rest of the setup while Bucky looked over the rules sheet.

    Steve did win the first game, but it did its job as far as Bucky was concerned. Bucky's frustration over his inability to roll some goddamn stone soon eclipsed the irrational foreboding that had been lurking in the pit of his stomach and he felt oddly better. He let himself hope that they'd be able to get through this mess without any more permanent psychological scarring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's read, commented, or left kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: A character gets triggered and then gets frustrated with themself for getting triggered. Also, a few brief references to drinking to cope (by a character who can't actually get drunk).

    Four Hours later:

   

    Bucky needed a goddamn drink. So he set a pan of milk to heating and turned on the coffee maker for Irish Coffee Hot Chocolate. With his metabolism, the warmth and sugar would probably do more for him than the alcohol or caffeine, but it was the principle of the thing. Steve had followed Bucky to the kitchenette, but was standing in the doorway in nothing but his boxers looking like a mournful golden retriever instead of following Bucky all the way. Probably didn't want Bucky to feel crowded when he was upset.

    “You can come in if you don't start apologizing for everything,” Bucky told him.

    “Okay,” Steve said, downcast. “I just-”

    “Dammit, Steve,” Bucky said, a little more sharply than he'd intended, “What, exactly, do you want to apologize for? Hydra's complete lack of respect for bodily autonomy? My head full of razor-bladed mousetraps? Your giant dick? Treating me like someone who knows my own limits instead of wrapping me in cotton wool?”

    “Okay, I get the point,” Steve said. “But if I shouldn't be beating myself up about this, neither should you. Trying to do things that scare you isn't screwing up or self-sabotage or whatever the hell you think – it's brave. And we both know I push myself too hard and get in over my head all the damn time. I think you've earned a few chances yourself.”

    “Okay. You've got a point. Still sorry you had to get mixed up with all my mental problems like this.”

    “It's not like you never had to wade in after me,” Steve said. “And I wasn't dealing with anything close to your experiences - I was just small and angry and very, very frustrated.”

    “Don't forget utterly lacking in self-preservation,” Bucky said, cracking a faint smile.

***

    _The thing about Steve was that the Captain America Aura of Inspiration didn't turn off, not really. Even when you knew him well enough to see through the star-spangled mystique and had disagreed or even argued with him on multiple occasions, he had this way of making you want to be a better and braver person. Or, in a far less charitable interpretation, the big lug's lack of self-preservation was catching._

_So four hours after Bucky had discovered that his dick wasn't broken after all, he got an Idea. Bucky and Steve had been following the “get off every two hours to keep the nanites from eating your nervous system” program conscientiously, and it seemed to be working. Although Bucky wasn't sure how he'd be able to tell if it wasn't, since his brain was full of holes at the best of times. At any rate, they had a system. Steve got Bucky off with tenderness and efficiency, and Bucky did his damnedest to keep his head in the game and not panic. And it had worked. But then Bucky got it in his head that three rounds with no reciprocation wasn't really fair to Steve. Fair enough. But Bucky couldn't just have played it safe and lent a friendly hand, which would have made Steve more than happy. Oh no. Bucky had to get fancy. After all, his post-Hydra unease about having stuff in his mouth was almost completely better, and Bucky used to love going down on people. What could go wrong?  
_

_Bucky had been nervous, but it was fun at first, running the show instead of Steve taking care of him. Bucky realized he'd kind of missed it. Everything went off to a great start. Steve was certainly enjoying himself and Bucky was keeping it together, until Bucky tried to swallow Steve down a little bit deeper and Steve's dick wound up poking Bucky in just the wrong part of his palate at just the wrong angle and Bucky. Just. Couldn't.  
_

_Gagging and hyperventilating at the same time is no fun. Zero out of ten, Bucky would not recommend it under any circumstances._

_So there Bucky was, curled up at the end of the bed trying to pull himself together before he spiraled into a full-bore panic attack. And Steve was there talking at him – probably trying to talk Bucky down, but Bucky was in no state to pay proper attention. Bucky finally got enough control over his brain and limbs and breathing to grab his bathrobe and make a run for the kitchenette while Steve followed looking puppy-eyed and apologetic._

    ***

    “Is there anything I can do?” Steve asked.

    “You can make yourself useful and get out the chocolate chips and the vanilla,” Bucky replied.

    “On it. How much do we need?” Steve asked, as he rummaged through their box of baking supplies. “Is half a bag enough?” 

    “For this much? Yeah,” Bucky said, stirring the heating milk with a little more vigor than it really needed at this stage of the proceedings. But his nerves were still rattled and the repetitive motion was soothing. 

    “Peanut butter?” 

    “I got no idea how it'll taste with the whiskey, but sure. We could use the protein.”

    “It's got to be better than D rations,” Steve said. 

    Bucky shook his head. “Dammit, Steve, I thought I'd safely forgotten those things. Why'd you have to remind me?”

    “I seem to be doing that a lot lately,” Steve said mournfully.

    Bucky sighed. “Steve. Stop it. You didn't say or do anything wrong. It was more like... muscle memory, I guess.” Bucky smiled mirthlessly. “Hydra shoved so much stuff down my throat I didn't know I still had a gag reflex.” Bucky realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth that this was exactly the wrong thing to say to Steve, but it was too late to take it back. 

    Steve looked, predictably, appalled, but at least Bucky's words hadn't sent him into another goddamn guilt spiral. Thank God for small mercies. Instead, he shut up, brought over the vanilla, chocolate, and peanut butter, set them down on the counter near the stove, and stood there just out of Bucky's reach looking very awkward and at loose ends. 

    “You can come over here if you want,” Bucky said. “I don't need breathing room so much right now.” Steve's expression brightened ever so slightly as he walked over to stand right behind Bucky, very close but not touching. 

    “Can I?” Steve asked softly. 

    “Knock yourself out, pal,” Bucky said. “Just remember, I still have to stir this stuff.” Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist and pulled him close. Bucky leaned back gratefully into the sturdy warmth of Steve's body. As the residual panic faded Bucky felt very tired. 

    Steve pulled down the back collar of Bucky's bathrobe a little and started massaging the base of Bucky's neck. Bucky half-sighed half-hummed, so softly it was nearly inaudible, and leaned into the touch.

    “Bucky, are you purring?” Damn Steve's super ears anyway. 

    “So what if I-” oh, mmm, yes, right there “-am?” 

    “You are.” Steve sounded disproportionately delighted by this. “I wonder if you like being scratched behind the ears?” Bucky rolled his eyes – which, conveniently, Steve couldn't see because he was standing right behind him. Steve stopped massaging Bucky's neck and started massaging his scalp a few inches behind his left ear. 

    It actually felt pretty good. And Steve noticed. Goddammit. “You do,” Steve said. “Is this why you like milkshakes and that sushi stuff so much, Buck?” 

    “Enough with the cat jokes, Rogers, or I swear I will start shedding on your uniform,” Bucky said. He meant to sound stern and slightly threatening, but between his current wrung-out emotional state and the relaxing effects of Steve's ministrations, Bucky couldn't really pull it off. 

    “Sorry, Buck,” Steve said unrepentantly. He snuggled closer and rubbed his cheek against Bucky's hair. “You're just so fluffy.” 

    “You're a real card, Stevie. Now make yourself useful and pass me the chocolate. I think the milk's ready.” 

    Steve let go of Bucky with obvious reluctance and grabbed the chocolate as hastily as possible before plastering himself to Bucky's back again. This sort of behavior was new, as far as Bucky could remember. Steve before the war hadn't been aloof or anything, but if Bucky's intact memories were to be trusted, he'd been a prickly little bastard who'd sleep by himself in a badly heated apartment in the middle of a New York winter if he thought the alternative involved letting Bucky baby him. But now he tended to turn into an affectionate octopus on rough days. “Steve, what's got into you?” Bucky asked. 

    “Nothing, really, Buck,” Steve said. Steve loosened his hold slightly – enough that Bucky could lean forward to stir the chocolate into the milk at a comfortable angle. “It's just been a hell of a day.” 

    “Can't argue with you there, pal,” Bucky said. He gave the milk and melting chocolate another good stir and turned the heat down a notch. “Pass me the peanut butter, will ya?” Steve obliged, and, tactician that he was, remembered to bring a spoon as well. 

    Peanut butter doesn't really melt on its own, so Bucky had to spend a few minutes smooshing at it with a wooden spoon while Steve made helpful commentary. “Maybe you just need more power, Buck,” Steve said innocently as Bucky prodded at the globs of peanut butter. “What about using your left arm?” 

    “Sure,” Bucky said. “Because that went so well the last time I tried it. Steve, our whisk still has dents in the handle from that business with the meringue.” When Bucky had first reunited with Steve, he'd still been in the process of collecting his marbles and hadn't felt up to much socializing. He had spent a lot of time watching “how to” videos on the youtube and learning 21st century cooking. Results had been mixed. “I think my right arm can handle peanut butter.” 

    “Of course, you know best,” Steve said demurely.

    “Punk,” Bucky grumbled. The peanut butter finally softened up under Bucky's efforts and let itself be mixed into the milk and chocolate. “Looks about ready,” Bucky said. “Now do you think you could stand to let go long enough for one of us to grab the coffee, Captain Limpet?” Steve let go reluctantly and grabbed the coffee pot while Bucky gathered the remaining ingredients. 

    There was something soothing about the rhythm of adding the whiskey, coffee, and vanilla in turn, stirring and tasting. “Hey, Stevie,” Bucky said. “You think this needs anything?” He dipped the pinkie of his left hand into hot chocolate and held it out for Steve to lick.

    “Dammit, Buck,” Steve said. “How many times do I have to tell you, that's unhygienic.” He licked a few drops of chocolate off Bucky's metal finger. “Hmm, wouldn't hurt to make it a little sweeter. If you were going to drink it by itself and not smother it in whipped cream and marshmallows.” 

    “I washed my hands,” Bucky said. “And you're one to talk, pal. I've seen what you do to modern coffee.” Bucky added a few more drops of vanilla and a splash of cream and tasted it again. “Tastes good to me. You know where the sugar bowl is.” Bucky gave the hot chocolate a final stir and turned off the stove. 

    “I think I'll find the strength to go on,” Steve said, snuggling closer. 

    “Whoa there, Captain Octopus. We still need mugs.”

    Steve loosened his grip very slightly. “The mugs can wait.”

    “Maybe they can,” Bucky said. “But I can't. Steve, you know I love you, but after the day I've had, nobody is getting between me and my whiskey and chocolate. Sam would back me up on this.” 

    “Pretty sure that's not what Sam means when he talks about self-care,” Steve said.

    “You want to call him up and ask him?” Bucky asked. Steve shook his head. “Fine, then we can agree to disagree about this. Just let me get the goddamn mugs.” Steve reluctantly let go and Bucky grabbed two mugs from the kitchen cupboard and filled them with hot chocolate. 

    “People nowadays just take this stuff for granted,” Bucky said, as he took the can of whipped cream out of their little refrigerator.

    “I guess,” Steve said. “Lots of things are more convenient now.” 

    “What I meant was, if any of our friends had ever tried to whip canned milk, they'd be a lot less blasé about this.” He gestured with his free hand at the can he was shaking up.

    “That was all you, Buck,” Steve said. “The only thing I could cook before the war was creamed stuff on toast.”

    “Actually, it was mostly my mom. But the point still stands, Stevie.” Bucky grabbed his mug, topped it with a small mountain of whipped cream, and turned to Steve. “Want some?”

    “Sure. Leave it out.” Bucky sat down with his mug at their little kitchen table and drank a long slurp. Ah, yes. Bucky closed his eyes in bliss to appreciate the perfect balance of heat-sugar-fat-bitterness-hooch and felt something warm, solid, and very heavy settle on his lap. “Dammit, Rogers,” Bucky said, without opening his eyes, “You pull stuff like this and I'm the cat?”

    “Sorry,” Steve said cheerfully. Bucky opened his eyes, and there Steve was, sitting sideways on his lap and smiling down at him without a trace of penitence in his expression.

    Bucky shook his head unamusedly and took another drink of his truly excellent hot chocolate, which required some maneuvering with Steve sitting there. “Steve, I know you think you're invulnerable, but I don't think even the serum would protect you from getting hot cocoa spilled in your lap,” Bucky said.

    “Bucky, you're one of the best snipers on earth,” Steve said. “As long as I don't start tickling you or something I think I can trust you to have steady hands.” Steve looked down in a way that would have seemed shy and sweet to someone who hadn't known Steve for the better part of a century and continued, “Besides. I like it here.”

    Bucky sighed and set his cup of alcoholic chocolate goodness aside for a moment. “Put down your drink and c'mere, you big punk,” he said. Steve set his mug on the table, turned around, and launched himself into Bucky's arms with an enthusiasm that nearly tipped the chair over. Bucky caught him and managed to keep them both upright as Steve clung to Bucky like a lonely octopus. Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders and petted Steve's hair – which had degenerated into a fluffy bird's nest by now – with his free hand.

    Steve did not cry, although there were a few moments when his breathing sounded suspiciously shuddery. Bucky had not been expecting that, although in retrospect he thought he should have. What Steve lacked in regard for his own safety he made up for worrying about the people he cared about, and Bucky getting hurt always hit him particularly hard. After a few minutes Steve lifted his head from where it was rested in the crook of Bucky's neck, smiled awkwardly, and said “This was easier when I weighed ninety pounds, wasn't it?”

    “Oh it's not so bad now,” Bucky said. “Kind of like having my own giant teddy bear. Or one of those big goofy dogs who think they're two hundred pound puppies.”

    “Gee, thanks Buck.”

    Cozy as the situation was, Bucky could feel one of his legs beginning to fall asleep. He was internally debating kicking Steve off versus dealing with pins and needles later when his phone's text alert went off. “Hey, Stevie,” Bucky said, poking Steve gently on the shoulder with his right hand. “You gotta let me up, this might be important.” Steve did no such thing. But Bucky was, despite the nasty things certain political commentators on TV had said about him, a good person, and good people don't dump their limpety boyfriends onto the kitchen floor. So Bucky just picked Steve up with him as he stood up. It was an awkward position, but thankfully, Steve helped by wrapping his legs around Bucky's waist and hanging on as soon as he realized what Bucky was trying to do.

    “Speaking of things that were easier when I weighed ninety pounds,” Steve said, after Bucky set him down on the bed.

    “I can rip a car door off its hinges if I have to, Steve, I think I can still carry your punk ass.” Bucky checked his phone. “It's from Bruce. He and Dr. Cho made really good time on the anti-nanite thingamajig and everything should be ready to go in about half an hour.”

    “That's wonderful,” Steve said. His smile was wide and genuine, but a bit quavery around the edges.

“I'll say.” Bucky smiled and turned back toward the kitchenette. “Now I for one am going to finish my hot chocolate before it gets ice cold. And I'd suggest you do it too, Steve. I think both our sugar's getting low.”


	6. Chapter 6

Steve obviously didn’t like leaving Bucky by himself in the infirmary, and to be honest, Bucky didn’t like being left. But it was going to take over an hour for the nanite-scrubber to do its work, and Steve had mission reports to write up. And the man probably needed some time to decompress, even if he’d never admit it. So when Sam and Natasha came by with cookies, Bucky tried to persuade Steve to take a break.

“Fury and Hill are gonna want to talk to you eventually,” Bucky said. “You might as well make your report now and get it over with instead of sitting here twiddling your thumbs.” Steve looked conflicted.

“We were planning on sticking around for a while,” Sam said.

“We brought rugelach. And I found another terrible monster movie which I would prefer to watch with company,” said Natasha. “If that sounds good to you, Bucky.”

“Yeah, I could use the distraction,” Bucky said. He would have resented the implication that he needed babysitting, but Bucky really did not want to be left alone while he was hooked up to a bunch of mad-science medical equipment, and this was hardly the most embarrassing thing Sam and Nat knew about him.

Steve looked conflicted. “You know it’ll be bugging you as long as you keep putting it off,” Bucky said. “And you don’t really like horror movies anyway.”

“I see how it is,” Steve said. He turned to Sam and Nat. “Don’t let Buck get into too much trouble. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Everyone knows you’re the troublemaker, _Rogers_ ,” Bucky said.

Sam nodded. “Bucky’s got a point. Who’s gonna keep you from taking down any government conspiracies by yourself if we’re here with him?”

“Come on, guys, it’s just paperwork!” Steve protested. “Even _Tony_ couldn’t make that exciting.”

“If you say so, Cap,” Sam teased.

“Insubordinate, the lot of you,” Steve grumbled. “Goodbye, Buck.” Bucky was hooked up to too many tubes and things for a proper hug, so Steve just clapped him manfully on the shoulder before he left the medical wing.

* * *

 

After mission reports, a shower, a change of clothes, a light snack, and a couple of cute animal videos, Steve felt a lot better. But with his immediate concerns taken care of, his worry over Bucky flared up again. Steve told himself to get a grip. Bucky was not in danger from anything, not even loneliness or boredom. He had been _fine_ when Steve left, and even if Bucky did have some kind of delayed breakdown from the stress of the day, Sam was a trained counselor and Natasha was the most people-smart person Steve knew. They could probably handle it.

When Steve got back to the medical wing, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha were still watching _Fin Fang Foom Versus Giganto._ They seemed to be enjoying themselves, although Steve didn’t quite understand why. The visual composition was so cluttered that you could hardly tell what was going on during the monster fight and the dialogue was… not good.

“Why are you two fighting, anyway?” Natasha told the screen. “You both hate humanity. Join forces! Fin Fang Foom can rule the land and sky, Giganto can rule the sea, everybody’s happy.”

“What about the humans?” Steve asked.

“Well, since none of the human characters in this movie have any likeable qualities or common sense,” Natasha said, “I don’t see how their fate is my problem.”

“Damn, that’s harsh,” Sam said. “But probably fair.”

“Any rugelach left for me?” Steve asked hopefully, during a lull in the action.

“Bucky ate all the Nutella ones,” Sam said. “But there’s a few cherry left.” That suited Steve fine, so he helped himself to a couple pastries and sat down to watch the dragon and the giant whale monster fight their final, inconclusive battle and disappear into the ocean.

“Wait,” said Steve. “The whole point of this movie was the monster fight and we don’t even see the end of it? What’s the point of that?”

“Gotta leave something for the sequels,” Sam said.

When the credits had finished rolling and the rugelach were devoured, Sam and Natasha took their leave, leaving Steve and Bucky alone together. Steve sat down on the edge of Bucky’s hospital bed and took Bucky’s left hand in both of his. “Buck…”

“Steve,” Bucky said, “don’t you dare apologize. You saved my brain from being even more full of holes than it is already. That is a _good_ thing.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve said. “And I’m glad I could help you. It’s just-” Steve blushed like a strawberry “I’d been hoping for something a _little_ more romantic.”

“Aw, Stevie,” Bucky said. “We’ll work something out. Just consider this the trial run, okay, pal?”

“You mean even after all this, you’re still interested in, um, getting physical?” Steve asked.

“Sure,” Bucky said. “Not tonight - you and that fight earlier wore me out, sweetheart. But once I have some time to rest up and get my head together, I got no objections to taking things a little further.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t scare you off.”

“Don’t get too excited, pal. My problems haven’t all gone away just because I’m okay with someone else touching my dick now. I’m not gonna be asking you to fuck me through the mattress anytime soon.”

“Buck,” Steve said. “I am fine doing whatever you’re comfortable with. _More_ than fine.”

“Whatever I’m comfortable with, huh?” Bucky said. He squeezed Steve’s waist with his metal hand. “I’m sure I can think of a few things.”

 _Oh lord_ , Steve thought. _What have I gotten myself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after! Well, happily by the standards of Marvel superheroes, at least. Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with the story this far.


End file.
